


Neveh Ilan

by Roga



Category: NCIS, The Voice (Israel) RPF
Genre: Collection: Purimgifts Day 2, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-23
Updated: 2013-02-23
Packaged: 2017-12-03 12:34:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/698291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Roga/pseuds/Roga
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ziva meets an old friend during a visit (home).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Neveh Ilan

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Hagar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hagar/gifts).



*

"So basically Israelis are Italians in disguise," Tony said, taking a sip from his beer. " _Ah_. I like it. It's like there's a newfound bond between us. It's nice."

"You realize I have no idea what you're talking about," Ziva said. "Just so we're clear."

Tony grinned. "Obviously there's the driving," he said. "It's always a relief to know it's not just you, but your entire homeland. No, wait, that's just terrifying. But what I really mean," he continued as Ziva rolled her eyes, "is that nice old mob flick accent. _Welcome to… Da Voi-ce!_ " he enunciated, with a nice, heavy dose of self-satisfaction. 

Ziva folded her arms. "Charming," she said. 

The sound of applause rose from behind the heavy black drapes separating the hall from the studio. 

"What? Come on. It's da- _voi_ ce. Come for da-music, stay for da-free drinks."

"Those weren't free," she said. 

Tony took a second look at his unmarked, clear plastic beer cup. "Well I seriously hope it wasn't expensive because it tastes like da-shit."

"You were the one who ordered Goldstar," she shrugged, and pushed away from the wall. "Come on, they're breaking for commercial."

The lighting in the corridor was surprisingly dim, considering the lighting equipment scattered around the place. Ziva led the way, pushing through a swinging door and orange-vested security guard to step out into the fresh air. The air was crisp and cold – barely September weather for Baltimore and DC, but far colder than Tony had been expecting for any month in the middle east. A lone cypress stood tall on the lower slopes of the valley, surrounded by rocks and muddy puddles, far enough that it was only visible as a silhouette from the studio parking lot, a familiar fixture for production staff on smoking breaks. 

"Ziva!" called a voice from behind, and a second later Ziva was near-tackled by a woman with golden hair and a pair of terrifyingly pointy heels that looked like they'd been transported directly from Jersey Shore. 

"No seriously," Tony said, "are you sure you're not all secretly Italian?"

"Shut up, Tony," Ziva said, laughing as she embraced the other woman, and exchanged a few sentences in Hebrew before deigning to turn her attention back to Tony.

"Tony, meet Sarit, an old friend. Sarit, this is my colleague Tony. Tony is a wonderful _chartetan, az al takshivi leshum davar shehu omer._ "

Tony blinked. "That means I'm wonderful, right? You should listen to what she's saying."

Sarit laughed. "It's nice to meet you, Tony. You're very lucky to work so closely with Ziva, I only get to see her once every few years," she said, sending Ziva a mock pout and emphasizing with a small shove to Ziva's shoulders, and wow, Tony was not used to Ziva letting other people be so tactile around her. This was impressive.

Ziva looked at Sarit pointedly. "You're the one who makes me drive all the way to god forsaken Neveh Ilan to see you during a five minute commercial break since you're always busy."

"Mami, you're the one who never comes home," Sarit said.

Tony braced himself, but Ziva didn't even flinch, just widened her smile, seeming actually happy. It was creepy. "I do miss you," she said. "How about you schedule a show in DC, huh?"

"Uh, aren't we getting a little ahead of ourselves?" Tony asked. "She only just auditioned to Da Voice. No pressure, sheesh."

Sarit raised an eyebrow. Ziva – and this, now, was familiar – rolled her eyes. "I can't even pretend to be surprised you weren't listening. Sarit is not a contestant, Tony. She is a judge."

"Mentor," Sarit corrected. 

Ziva gave her a fond, slightly skeptic glance. "Bseder, yalla." She turned back to Tony. "Sarit is our Christina Aguilera."

Tony's eyes widened. "Oh my god."

Ziva grinned proudly. "Yes, she's very good."

"No, I mean oh my god, you knew that Christina Aguilera was on The Voice. Did you follow the season? Did you vote? Does McGeek know about this? I need to call him right now."

Ziva smacked him on the back of the head, and Tony didn't manage to duck fast enough before she pinched his ear. "All right, that's enough for you," she said.

Sarit laughed. "I see you have one too."

"Oh god, there's more than one?"

Sarit jerked her head, indicating a leather jacket-clad dude smoking against a car by the studio doors. "Mine's a little – what's the word? Douchier," she said.

"Hey," Tony objected. 

"...though I prefer the sound of ben zona," she continued, and raised her voice a little bit. "Be at least he's our ben zona, aren't you?"

The dude glanced up and smirked at her knowingly. Admittedly, he looked totally douchey. And his jacket was identical to Tony's. 

"I don't like where this conversation is going," Tony declared. "Let's go back to the part where you were calling me wonderful."

Sarit grinned, then looked at her diamond-studded watch and frowned. "I have to head back," she said apologetically, and leaned in to hug Ziva again, whispering something in her ear. Ziva's hands dropped from Tony to hug her tighter. After a moment, she let go. 

"I'll see you, okay?" Sarit said.

"I'll be watching you," Ziva promised, which wasn't exactly the same. 

Sarit and Leather!Douche walked back into the studio together, Ziva watching their backs with a closed-off expression on her face. Their flight home was tonight; they couldn't even stick around for the end of the show. 

But they could stay for a few more songs.

"Come on," Tony said, nudging her towards the doors. "We can do one more."

Inside, they stood at the back, keeping out of the way of rushing equipment managers and PAs until a silence fell over the room, and three clear voices began to sing in harmony. 

_Mayim leDavid Hamelech—_

Ziva chuckled softly. 

_Mayim, mayim leDavid…_

"What is it?" Tony whispered. 

"Hush," she said, and closed her eyes. "Just listen to the music."

He did.


End file.
